


It's Perfectly Normal

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Age Play, Bedwetting, Crying, Embarrassment, F/F, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: It's perfectly normal to have a physical reaction to stress. Absolutely perfectly normal. Yaz just wishes it was a...differentone.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	It's Perfectly Normal

**Author's Note:**

> I started this ages and ages ago, and a friend of mine encouraged me to post it. I don't know if I'm ever gonna finish it, but I figured I'd see what y'all thought of it. If it does continue, it's gonna get much more ABDL-y.

"Doctor," Yaz said, and she tried to sound casual, "could you direct me towards the laundry room, please?' She tried to imagine that they were having a casual conversation, that she was asking directions to the swimming pool, or the library. Tried to imagine she wasn't in a dressing gown, her wet hair sending itchy drips down her back. 

The Doctor pushed her goggles up, and she frowned. "What d'you need the laundry room for? It's still your sleep cycle."

"I got my period early," Yaz said, and she was lying through her teeth. "Bit of a mess, needed to change my sheets, figured it would be a good idea to wash 'em as well."

The Doctor didn't look entirely convinced, but then she brightened up. "Wouldn't be the first time," she said cheerfully. "Go get your sheets, I'll take you to it."

"I'm sure you can just direct me," Yaz said quickly. "I'm sure I'll be able to find it on my own." Now she _knew_ she was being suspicious. She never liked to wander the TARDIS on her own. 

"The TARDIS is kinda… finicky about the laundry room," the Doctor said. "Not sure about her reasoning, but it's a room she's shy about."

"Shy," Yaz echoed. 

"Shy," the Doctor echoed back, they sounded like a regular Greek chorus. "She has her reasons, I'm sure- might just be she doesn't want anyone seeing everyone's underthings." 

Yaz put on an awkward smile. "If you're sure," she said, and her stomach was sinking like a stone. "I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Not at all," the Doctor said. "You're far from the first human woman I've had living with me." She began to walk purposefully down a corridor. "We can grab up your sheets, stick 'em in the wash, they'll be good as new!"

“Right,” Yaz said, and she tried to put on a smile. The Doctor would be able to tell it wasn’t blood on her sheets - the Doctor could identify what country she was in by tasting the soil, surely she’d be able to tell the difference between urine and blood, right?

The Doctor would judge her, the Doctor would never be able to look at her the same again, the Doctor would make her go home, because why would she want to travel through time and space with a bedwetting baby. 

Yaz bit her lip to keep it from wobbling, and she followed after the Doctor, as they made their way through the winding corridors. 

“Here we are,” the Doctor said, standing outside of Yaz’s bedroom. “You can strip your bed, we can go put it in the laundry, we can put new sheets on, it’ll be great!” She followed after Yaz, and Yaz was biting her lip harder as the two of them walked into the room - the scent of urine permeated the small space. She could see the Doctor frowning, her nose wrinkling, and she was about to open her mouth to make an excuse. Then the Doctor spoke. “Oh, hey,” the Doctor said, and she was leaning back on her heels, as Yaz gathered up her bundle of wet sheets, her sopping pajama pants in the middle of the bundle. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” Yaz’s hands were shaking - she had the driest sheets in her arm, and she could smell just how much she’d wet. 

Oh _god_ , the Doctor was going to say something.

“I think that was Peri’s wardrobe,” the Doctor said, as she turned on her heel, beginning to make her way down the hallway again. “Or maybe Sarah Jane’s? Or maybe both.” She looked over her shoulder at Yaz, and she was cheerfully chattering. It didn’t even have that particular manic note of anxiety that sometimes crept in. 

“Who were they?” Yaz was trying not to think about the fact that the Doctor knew, that she knew that the Doctor knew, but maybe the Doctor knew that she knew that -

“Other people who’ve traveled with me,” said the Doctor, interrupting the panicked flow of Yaz’s thoughts. “I think the TARDIS likes you,” she added. “Didn’t make us run around the hallways for three hours, either.” 

“Was that a thing we were going to have to worry about?” Yaz didn’t want to think about wandering around the TARDIS with her own pissy sheets, trailing behind the Doctor. 

“TARDIS doesn’t always like my traveling companions,” the Doctor said, and it felt like there was history behind it. “She’s gotten a lot… calmer these days, which is good. She likes Ryan a lot. Pretty fond of Graham, too.”

“Does she like me?” Yaz wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. Something about this was all taking on a note of surreality - maybe this was an anxiety dream. She’d had a bunch of those, back when she was in school.

“She likes you,” the Doctor assured Yaz. “Makes her feel all proper, too, having a police officer in a police box.” She stopped in front of a washing machine. “Enjoy your laundry!” 

She stood in front of the washing machine, still faintly fuzzy in the head, and she grinned in spite of herself. Sure. why not.

* * *

Yaz wet the bed four sleeps later. It was hard to tell what counted as a week or a day, especially when they were off on adventures doing who even knew what. Time was relative and strange, but sleep was more or less a regular thing. She was dreaming of running, and there was something that was towering over her, and then there were claws in her guts, and it didn’t hurt, but there was _liquid_ flowing out of her like water. 

Yaz jerked awake, and she was gasping, her chest heaving. She was clammy, and her pajama pants were wet against her legs, and then she realized that she had pissed the bed again, and she moaned. 

"Fuck."

Her pajamas were soaked, her duvet was going to need to be washed, she'd soaked through both sets of sheets... she was sticky, and she was still shaking. Her hands went to her belly, and she pressed down. At least that hadn't been real. Her guts were still intact, nothing had eaten her, nothing was going to claw her open. She was safe in the TARDIS, she was _safe_.

She hadn't been a bedwetter before - she wasn't sure where this was coming from. She'd heard it was a reaction to stress, but this wasn't her normal stress reaction. Oh god, what if it happened when she was at home? She'd never live it down. She was an _adult_ , she needed to be in control of all of... everything, she _was_ in control of everything. This was her body, and she would do what she needed to do. 

She was aware that there were tears dripping down her face, and she swiped at them angrily. Why was she freaking out? This was a totally normal thing, a thing that happened to plenty of people, she'd never done it as a child but maybe she was coming to it late, that was fine, this was all fine, she'd be fine. 

She wished her heart would stop beating so hard, wished that her chest would stop heaving. She was faintly worried she was going to vomit, but it was an academic sort of worry. Everything seemed to be happening at once, and she wasn't sure what she was going to do.

Okay. She could make a list. She was good at lists, was good at making plans, was good at getting to the root of a problem. She just needed to get up, take a shower, put her stuff in the laundry. She knew where the laundry was now, it would be fine. The Doctor wouldn't find out, the Doctor would still think of her as a capable adult, would still let her travel, because the Doctor wouldn't let her come along if - 

Yaz shifted, and her foot pressed into a particularly wet patch. She made a disgusted noise, and that seemed to pull her out of whatever she'd been spiraling into. She pulled herself out, as hard as she could, and she raked her hands through her hair. She'd sweated through it, and she wrinkled her nose as the rank, ammonia scent of urine hit her nose.

Laundry. 

Laundry, shower, and then she'd remake the bed. She'd done it before. She hopefully wouldn't have to do it again.

* * *

She had to do it again. Again and again, and she was tired of how almost _routine_ it was getting. She'd wake up from a nightmare, she'd strip the bed, she'd go shower and put everything in the wash, she'd flip the mattress, she'd make the bed again. She _knew_ it would be done soon, knew that the most recent time was the last time.

The TARDIS was starting to give her sheets printed with stars and rocket ships, or kittens in pajamas. She tried not to look too deep into it. Her mother had old sheets printed with azaleas - even the TARDIS probably had the urge to clean out the back of the linen closet occasionally, right? Same idea. 

The pajamas she was being offered were also...cute. The first pair were perfectly normal, albeit printed with little kittens. The second pair had lace edging on the cuffs, but then again, the TARDIS might have been doing more metaphorical cleaning out the linen closet. By the fifth time, there were little cartoon characters (all of them some kind of alien species), and the pajamas were too _long_ for her, so that she had to roll them up, or else trip. 

But it was all fine. All perfectly normal. The TARDIS was clearly just having a bit of a joke on her behalf, and she was willing to play along, to a certain extent. The Doctor seemed convinced that the TARDIS was alive, and who was Yaz to argue with her about that? 

At least the Doctor didn't suspect anything. Everything was perfectly normal when they went on adventures, when they hung around the TARDIS. The Doctor did her repairs or cooking experiments or swam laps around the pool or did... who even knew what else. Graham and Ryan did their own thing. 

It would all be fine. Absolutely fine.

* * *  
When Yaz opened her bedroom door, she wasn't expecting to see the Doctor standing over her bed, fiddling with a sheet. She also wasn't expecting the Doctor to make a startled noise and jumpy, knocking into Yaz's bedside table, then yelping again.

"Yaz!" The Doctor wasn't wearing her coat, and she'd shoved her hair back and out of her face. She was looking faintly anxious, which was not a look that Yaz was familiar with. "Weren't you swimming?"

"I did swim," Yaz said, and she made a vague hand gesture at herself - her hair was still dripping down her back, and her towel was wrapped tightly around herself. "I was swimming for like an hour."

"It hasn't been an hour," the Doctor said, and she sounded surprised. "Time gets funny in the TARDIS."

"It's been an hour," Yaz confirmed. "You've got a big clock in the swimming pool room, remember?"

"Haven't been there in a while," the Doctor admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. "So much to do."

"So why are you in my room?" Yaz shifted from foot to foot, and she tried to hide how antsy she was. "I mean, technically it's your room, since it's your TARDIS, but if you'd like me to move to a new room or -"

"No, no," the Doctor interrupted. "No, your room is great. Great at being your room, I mean. Just, uh, left something here ages ago, before it was your room, wanted to see if it was still here." The Doctor looked surprisingly edgy. and it was making Yaz antsy. 

"Did you find what it was that you were looking for?" Yaz resisted the urge to rock on her heels. 

"Yep," said the Doctor. 

There was an awkward silence. 

"So... what was it?" Yaz tucked a piece of damp hair behind her ear.

"Nothing important, nothing important," the Doctor said, making a dismissive hand gesture.

_So why did you have to come into my room?_ Yaz didn't say, but she must have been giving the Doctor some kind of look, because the Doctor gave a nervous smile, and gave an awkward little half wave. 

"I'll just be going, then," said the Doctor, and then she was nudging around Yaz, and the door was shutting behind her.

"Well," Yaz said into the empty room, "that was weird." 

Her room didn't look any different - the bed seemed to be a little differently, but then again, the Doctor might have been digging through the sheets to find something. 

At least the mattress didn't smell. Yaz had been making sure to air it, propped up on one side by one of her "windows" that somehow led to someplace else... sort of. She'd long ago given up on the logic of the TARDIS, and just tried to keep up. 

* * * 

Yaz didn't realize what the Doctor had been doing until she got into bed that night. She pulled her blankets back, and plopped down. 

And it rustled. 

She paused, shifting on the covers, and there was more rustling. They hadn't been rustling when she had gotten out of bed. She'd been dry when she got up (it was embarrassing to think of it like that, like she was a toddler, but... well), and she'd been faintly proud of herself for it. 

_Was the Doctor putting a plastic sheet on my bed?_ Yaz sat up, and she pushed the sheet back. There was indeed a plastic sheet covering the mattress, and it was printed with little penguins and polar bears and seals, all cheerful and smiling. It looked like something that would be found in a baby's room, and Yaz flushed, and let the sheet fall back down. 

Oh _god_ , what must the Doctor think of her? Why hadn't the Doctor _told_ her?!

What was she supposed to do? She could strip the bed, but then she would have to put it back together, and she was already tired of changing sheets. She could confront the Doctor, ask the Doctor if this was a cruel joke... but then she would have to admit to wetting the bed, and she didn't know if she could _ever_ do that. 

She ended up turning the lights off, and pulling the blanket over her head. Her anxiety was high, but she could mostly ignore it enough to get some sleep. The rustling wasn't so bad once she got used to it, and it wasn't as if it was particularly loud. She would figure out what to do in the morning.

* * *

In her dreams, Yaz sank into a swamp. 

It was a very slow process, at least at first. One moment she was sitting on a wooden pallet, and then her toes were wet. Then, somehow, she was lying down, and it was sucking her down, it was _covering_ her, she was so wet, and the mud was covering her whole body, she was being sucked into it, she was drowning, she was - 

Yaz jolted awake, and she was gasping, clawing at the sheets. The wet sheets. The wet sheets, and this was wetter than she'd been before, it had soaked up the back of her pajamas, up her back. She sat up, and her chest was heaving as she panted, pressing her forehead into her knees. She was sweating again, and she'd peed, and there was so _much_ of it.

The plastic sheet. It must have kept it from being absorbed into the mattress, which was all well and good, except now it was all just... there, and Yaz's pajamas had absorbed it. 

Yaz realized, with some surprise, that she was calm. She was very calm. She was about a foot to the left of her own body, which was an odd experience, although she'd felt it before. She wasn't here, exactly, but she also wasn't _not_ here. 

She'd need to take a shower. Take a shower, strip the bed, wash the sheets. Maybe not in that order. She stood up mechanically, and she didn't even change out of her pajamas. She just stripped the bed, holding the whole bundle in her arms. Hopefully she wouldn't run into Graham or Ryan, because she didn't know if she could deal with that right now. She wasn't sure what she could deal with right now, honestly. She wasn't sure about anything, except that she sure was existing on this plane of existence. She was existing, she'd continue to exist, what else could she ask for?

She smelled like piss. Piss and terrified sweat, and her heart was still beating desperately in her chest, her face was still wet and she wasn't sure if she had been crying or if it was more sweat, and she wasn't sure what to do with that. She didn't know what all of the nightmares were about, didn't know why they seemed to be burrowing into her mind. She didn't know why they were making her wet the bed, either - she'd never been a bedwetter before. 

"Yaz?" The Doctor's voice broke through the mental static that was filling Yaz's head, and Yaz nearly tripped. She clutched her wet sheets a little tighter to her chest, and she blinked in the gloom of the TARDIS corridor. 

"Doctor?" Yaz slammed back into herself, and she felt a little bit like her knees were going to buckle.

"Shouldn't you be - oh." The Doctor's nose scrunched up, and Yaz was faintly worried she was going to pass out. 

"It's... not what it looks..." Yaz trailed off. She didn't have an excuse. She didn't have anything. She was standing in the hallway, her arms full of wet sheets, her pajamas wet as well, stinking of piss. Her face was wet - she could feel her tears dripping down her face, sliding along her jaw to puddle off of her chin.

"Oh, Yaz," the Doctor said, and she sounded so... forgiving, and that somehow made it _worse_. "Did you have another accident?"

"Accident," as if she was some two year old who still hadn't mastered the whole "potty training" thing, and Yaz hadn't realized it could get any worse, and yet. She was crying now, she was crying ugly, and the Doctor was wrapping her up in a hug, seemingly unbothered by the wet laundry.

"Oh, Yaz," the Doctor said, and she was rubbing Yaz's back, making vaguely soothing noises. "It's alright. You're not the first to wet the bed on the TARDIS. You probably won't be the last, either." She pulled back, cupping Yaz's cheek, and her thumb caught one of the tears tracking down Yaz's cheek. "We live a scary life, scary stuff happens, the body reacts. Or the mind."

"It just k-k-keeps happening," Yaz mumbled, and she sniffed. Her nose was running too, and her face was probably going all splotchy, the way it always did when she cried. "I didn't ever used to d-d-d-do this, but it's..."

"D'you want to run a scan?" The Doctor tucked a piece of Yaz's hair behind one ear. "We can put everything in the wash, get you washed up, then do a medical scan." 

“Yeah,” Yaz sniffed. “I’m s-s-sorry.” Another sniff.

“Don’t be,” said the Doctor. “It happens to the best of us.”

“D’you do it, then?” Yaz’s voice was stuffy and awkward, but she stood up when the Doctor did, still holding her wet, pissy sheets .

“Well, no,” said the Doctor, “but I don’t sleep that much. And I don’t need to go to the toilet like you humans do. Not half so often. But if I did, I bet I'd have accidents all the time!'

Yaz laughed. It was a watery, awkward little sound, but it _was_ a laugh, nevertheless. "You're not very good at this comforting thing," she said, as the two of them made their way towards the laundry room.

"I don't have a lot of practice," the Doctor protested. She opened a door at random, and there was the laundry room. Yaz was becoming intimately familiar with it.

"I thought you said that loads of people had this problem," Yaz mumbled, as she made her way towards one of the washers.

"Well, yes, but..." The Doctor shrugged, leaned against one of the washing machines. "I wasn't _me_ at that point. I mean, I was me, I'm always me, but I wasn't me... as me." She paused. "Am I making any sense?"

Yaz shrugged, dumping the wet sheets into the washer. Then she blushed. "You, uh... you don't have to..." She cleared her throat, fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt. Her wet t-shirt.

"I'm alright with it," the Doctor said cheerfully, and then she was _pushing down her braces_ , to pull her own shirts up and off. She dumped them into the washing machine, and she stood there in her trousers and her sports bra, looking lovely in ways that made Yaz's heart beat faster.

Everything had taken on a surreal cast - the scent of piss was filling Yaz's head, mixed with her own sweat, and the soapy laundry detergent. The lights were bright, and the Doctor was just... here, being the Doctor. It was like another weird dream, and Yaz didn't know what to do next. The Doctor was so beautiful, and she didn't seem to be disgusted or weirded out or... anything, other than concerned and faintly awkward. 

"I don't want to... put you out," Yaz said. She gave up, and she pulled her shirt up and off of, dumping it into the washing machine. Hopefully the Doctor wouldn't judge her too hard for wetting the bed so hard that she'd gotten it all over her _shirt_. 

"Nah," said the Doctor. Then she was... crouching in front of Yaz, and _that_ was unexpected. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of Yaz's pajama pants, and she pulled them down. "Put your hands on my shoulders, so you don't fall over," the Doctor said, and she was looking up at Yaz through her eyelashes. 

"I'm all... sticky," Yaz said. Her hands were sweaty, and she could almost see the visible stink lines coming off of her, like something out of a cartoon. 

"I can shower too," said the Doctor, and she smiled at Yaz, tugging on the sodden waistband. "C'mon, before you catch a chill."

"Wasn't that proven to be fake?" Yaz put her hands on the Doctor's shoulders, leaning forward and obediently lifting her feet. She was _naked_ in front of the Doctor, and she was beginning to think that maybe it was turning her on, sort of. Maybe?

"I know that you'll get cold, which is, in itself, a chill, so it counts," said the Doctor, in her "brooking no arguments" tone. "Into the shower with you."

"Right," Yaz said. She was faintly dazed. Everything was still tinged with... unreality, but then again, what even _was_ reality, when it came to the Doctor? She watched the Doctor load up a washer. She made her way (naked) towards the attached shower, and then she climbed in, turning the water in and tilting her head back into the spray. It felt good - the thunder of it seemed to be drowning out some of the static that was filling her head up, and the pressure was helping her muscles unknot. She hadn't realized just how _tense_ she'd been, until she was finally beginning to relax. It was almost painful. 

Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it was. Of course the Doctor wouldn’t judge her.


End file.
